


Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear

by iridescentglow



Category: Veronica Mars (TV)
Genre: Incest, M/M, Pre-Series, Road Trip
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-08-14
Updated: 2005-08-14
Packaged: 2017-12-23 13:54:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,368
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/927273
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/iridescentglow/pseuds/iridescentglow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Logan, Dick and Beaver go to Mexico.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: #1.22, 'Leave It To Beaver'

Logan and Dick had been making out for twelve miles. Cassidy glanced down at the dashboard — _thirteen_ , he corrected himself. He gripped the steering wheel more tightly and tried to concentrate on the road ahead. Logan and Dick were lounging across the tan leather backseat of Roy Casablancas' mid-life crisis fuckmobile. Cassidy's eyes slid back to the rear-view mirror. He watched as Logan shifted position, writhing briefly out of his limited, rectangular view; Dick groaned, pulling Logan back down on top of him.

It was probably a good thing that theirs was practically the only car on the long desert road. Cassidy, never the greatest driver, had a tendency to let his foot slip from the gas pedal as he watched the scene unfolding over his shoulder. He would overcompensate every few seconds, regaining his focus and swerving the car slightly with a jolt of speed. Cassidy thought he saw Logan's lips pucker with amusement during one such instance; he felt sure Logan was perfectly aware of his audience.

Logan's mouth moved lazily over Dick's. He pulled away slightly, pausing to tease Dick ostentatiously with the tip of his tongue. Cassidy could tell that Logan was beginning to get bored of just kissing. His hands were roaming restlessly over Dick's body, playfully searching for openings, places where patches of skin were revealed. Cassidy remembered playing _I Never_ the summer before, watching Logan guzzle at his drink. _I never had sex in a moving car . . ._ Apparently he planned to do something about that state of affairs.

"Would you two cut it out?" Cassidy mumbled in exasperation.

He'd thought they hadn't heard him, until Dick replied languidly, ". . . eyes on the road, Beav."

Cassidy's irritation mounted. "What about _Lilly_?" he said. He'd meant it to sound sly and cutting, but it came out as more of a whine.

"Lilly's a bitch." Logan's reply was prompt, and Cassidy guessed it had been on the tip of his tongue; part of the mantra he'd been reciting ever since their break-up.

"Lilly's a _hot_ bitch," Dick supplemented with a grin.

Logan pushed him away suddenly. "Shut up." He seemed about to say more, but he just muttered, "can't even get you to stay quiet with my tongue down your throat."

Logan threw himself against the far side of the backseat, slouching down and turning his head to look out the window. Dick seemed bewildered by the sudden turn of events; a wounded look passed briefly across his face, replaced by anger that faded quickly into a stony indifference. He opened his mouth—to make a further jibe about Lilly, Cassidy guessed—but then apparently thought better of it. However, he seemed staunchly unwilling to follow Logan's command to shut up, because a moment later he said sarcastically—

"You wanna try driving a little slower, Beav?"

"I'm almost at the speed limit!"

"So go over it," Dick insisted petulantly.

"I think it's called the _speed limit_ for a reason."

Cassidy had been eyeing Dick irritably in the rear-view mirror, so he hadn't noticed that Logan had leaned forward. Cassidy flinched in surprise as he felt Logan's hand rest on his shoulder. He looked straight ahead.

"Sometimes it's good to break the rules, Cass," Logan said in a low voice. As Logan spoke, Cassidy could feel the warmth of his breath against his neck. It was an unspoken rule among the 09'ers that his name was _Beaver_ ; the kids on the periphery didn't register him as having any other name, and the core 09'ers knew there was significance to the nickname. But sometimes—when Logan said something dirty and Cassidy would laugh too loud—or Logan would catch him looking at him for a moment too long—suddenly Logan would adopt a slow smile and the sly hiss of _Cass, Cassidy . . ._

"It's good to push the boundaries," Logan murmured, "just a little . . ." Logan hand slid down the front of Cassidy's shirt, his fingers threading idly through the gaps between his shirt buttons. Cassidy knew he must be able to feel his heart racing.

Cassidy eased his foot onto the gas pedal, watching glassily as the needle moved, the speed climbing steadily. "That's better . . ." Cassidy could hear the smile in Logan's voice. He withdrew his hand, slumping back into his corner of the backseat.

 

Cassidy maintained the speed, skirting uneasily around the 100mph mark. Logan had retreated into his earlier funk; an inner, Lilly-centric monologue consuming the fullness of his attention. Dick was still trying to act bored and unconcerned, griping occasionally at Cassidy to break the car's heavy silence. Every now and then Dick would sneak a glance in Logan's direction, apparently considering and then discarding things to say to him.

They stopped at a gas station, and Dick leaped enthusiastically out of the car. Cassidy lingered a moment longer, turning in his seat to look back at Logan.

"You want anything?" he asked timidly.

Logan glanced briefly over at him, glaring slightly from beneath heavy eyelids. He moved his shoulders in a slight shrug, but apparently couldn't be bothered forming a real answer.

Cassidy climbed out of the car and walked to the gas station's general store. Predictably, he found Dick in the liquor aisle. Dick heaved a six-pack of beer into the cart, and then began considering vodka options with a connoisseur's concentration.

Abruptly, Cassidy tossed the car keys in his direction. They hit the back edge of the shopping cart, bouncing down and landing on top of the beer.

"I'm not driving anymore," Cassidy said, hoping he sounded assertive.

Dick looked at him in annoyance. He was holding a vodka bottle in his right hand, like a club. "Why not?"

"I don't have my license, for one thing! Dad thinks _you're_ driving." 

"I don't give a _fuck_ what Dad thinks," Dick said viciously. He reached over and threw the keys back at Cassidy.

"What if we get pulled over? We could be in serious—"

"Chill out, little brother. Haven't you figured out how the world works yet? The cops pull us over, we give them some money and the whole thing goes away. Worst case scenario, maybe Logan has to trade some sexual favors . . ."

Dick cackled and set the bottle of vodka down in the cart. He moved along the aisle. Cassidy bristled as he tossed a pack of condoms idly into the cart.

"What are you doing with those?" he asked.

"Well, they do make good water-balloons, Beav. But I plan on getting _laid_."

"I thought you had a girlfriend," said Cassidy. He tried to sound judicious, although honestly, Madison was such a raging bitch that he couldn't care less if Dick cheated on her. It was just a matter of who he cheated _with_.

"Hey, what happens in Mexico stays in Mexico," said Dick, casting a sly side-long look at him.

Cassidy didn't bother to point out that they were actually still on US soil and had been for the thirteen vivid miles in which Dick and Logan had rounded second base.

*

They arrived at the beach in Mexico at mid-afternoon. Their hotel was "a rundown piece of shit", according to Dick—but they'd never bothered looking for anywhere better to stay, and its killer beach access was all they really needed, anyway. They'd booked two adjoining rooms, and past experience dictated that a fight would ensue over who slept where.

Cassidy flopped onto the single bed near the door; he felt unaccountably drained by the journey down. Dick, by comparison, was suddenly talking a mile a minute, rejuvenated by clear skies and good waves. He did an impromptu strip show, revealing toned abs and bright blue surf shorts. Cassidy rolled over, facing the wall. Logan seemed even less enthused than Cassidy, dropping heavily onto the floor by the window. During the remaining drive, he'd drank most of the beer that Dick had bought using his fake ID and a fifty; now he seemed ready to start on the vodka.

In the end, only Dick went surfing. There was a long argument; one which only Dick himself really contributed to—Logan drank and ignored him, while Cassidy made some vaguely placatory remarks, before giving up and wishing Logan would pass him the bottle. Finally, Dick flounced out, yelled something random and insulting into the room, and then he was gone.

In Dick's wake there was a long silence. From his place on the bed, Cassidy couldn't really see Logan's face; he could make out the considerable dent Logan had managed to make in the vodka, though.

"You think you'll get back together?" Cassidy said at last. "With Lilly, I mean."

"Nope," said Logan. Cassidy heard the _slosh_ and _clink_ as he raised the bottle once more.

Logan didn't seem inclined to elaborate, and Cassidy couldn't think of anything else to say. Except, _you're going to fuck my brother tonight, aren't you?_

Instead, he flicked on the TV. Voices squabbled briefly in Spanish, before he turned the sound down. He watched with glazed boredom as the soap opera unfolded: a couple had sex; there was a fist-fight; someone was in the hospital; someone else was fondling a gun menacingly. He couldn't tell if it was all the same show, or just a succession of similar ones; either way, Cassidy didn't feel that he was missing much by being unable to hear the dialogue. When Logan spoke again, Cassidy blinked and realized that the room was dark. The sun was beginning to set, and Logan was apparently drunk enough to start talking.

". . . don't think I love her. Figure if there's someone I should _love_. I mean, she's Duncan's sister, she fucking blows my mind—and I don't . . ."

Logan trailed off, his mumbling obscuring any more words. For a moment Cassidy thought he might be crying. Then there was a loud _crack_ and Cassidy realized that Logan had tossed the near-empty bottle across the floor. It had splintered as it hit the wall. Logan began crawling across the carpet—his eyes unfocused, but dry. As he crawled, his palm landed on top of a shard of glass. Blood blossomed from the cut, creating a rust-coloured smear on the already-stained carpet. Logan paused to look at the cut, swaying slightly as he kneeled in the middle of the room. The blood was beginning to trickle down his hand. Abruptly, he licked across his wrist, turning the blood pink with his saliva.

"Weird how blood tastes like money . . . isn't it? Copper pennies . . . nickels and dimes."

"It is kinda . . . ironic," Cassidy said vaguely, watching as Logan continued to crawl across the floor toward him.

"Lilly should taste like blood, too," Logan continued, his voice thickened by the slight slurring. "All love is bitter. Like money." His eyes flashed as he finally reached Cassidy's bed. He rested his elbows on the coverlet, his knees still planted on the carpet.

"I thought you didn't—" Cassidy began.

Logan's hand—the one messy with blood and spit—reached out toward Cassidy, swiping at his shirt. "I _don't_ ," he said sharply. He grasped a fistful of Cassidy's shirt, tugging him toward him. "Fucking _whore_."

Almost before he had time to realize what was happening, Logan was kissing him. The playfulness Cassidy had witnessed earlier had seeped away. This was harsh collision, as Logan mouthed cruel words against his lips. Cassidy realized he was choking slightly as Logan refused to let go of his shirt. Logan tasted sour, like vodka, and bitter, like—like money—like _love_.

The door banged open suddenly.

Dick's voice, dripping sarcasm: "Hope I'm not _interrupting_."

Cassidy realized he was gasping for breath, as Logan let go of his shirt and broke their kiss.

"Well I was _trying_ to show Beaver here a good time." Logan smirked across the room at Dick. He stood up, stumbling slightly as he crossed the room on unsteady feet. "And you're usually first to the party, _Dick_ . . ."

Dick seemed momentarily lost for words. His eyes flicked to Cassidy, still sprawled on the bed, and then back to Logan. "You're such a fucking psycho, Echolls," he managed to spit out.

"Jealousy is _so_ unbecoming, Dickie-boy," Logan drawled. He reached out to touch Dick's face, leaving a smear of blood across his cheek.

Dick knocked his hand away, forming a fist that connected awkwardly with the side of Logan's face.

Logan stumbled away, colour rushing to the place where Dick had struck him. The smirk slid off his face. "Don't try growing a spine, Dick," he said coldly. "It really doesn't suit you." 

He seemed about to hit Dick, but instead he turned and pushed hard at the TV. The brightly flickering picture stuttered as Logan overturned the set. It finally dimmed to black as it hit the ground. Logan kicked at it ineffectually, and then set about upending the room's chair and desk. There was a brief explosion of sparks as Logan tossed a lamp at the wall.

Cassidy scrambled to his feet, instinctively edging toward Dick. "Logan . . ." he began, before realizing he had no idea what to say.

Logan appeared to run out of furniture to trash. He stood looking in the centre of the room, breathing heavily and staring at the blank screen of the television set. Reluctantly, Cassidy took a step toward him.

"Logan," Cassidy said again. Logan glanced over at him. His face displayed drunken belligerence mingling with earlier frustration and new sadness.

Behind Cassidy, Dick spoke: ". . . you _finished_?" he muttered. When Logan didn't reply, Dick exploded, "are you FINISHED, you fucking cunt?"

"Yeah," Logan answered quietly, contemptuously. "Yeah, I'm done."

Logan brushed past Cassidy and Dick as he walked to the door. He slammed the door shut on his way out, and in the loaded silence that followed Dick kicked dispiritedly at the TV.

"Cunt," he repeated, although he sounded more petulant than angry.

Cassidy glanced over at Dick, who was still dressed incongruously in his blue surf shorts. He watched as Dick ran a hand through his wet hair. A smear of Logan's blood remained on Dick's cheek. Cassidy looked down at his crumpled shirt and saw that the blood was there, too. He began picking his way across the room, tripping slightly on the debris before he reached the room's balcony.

As he leaned forward on the balcony's rail, Cassidy spotted Logan traipsing across the parking lot below. The dusky gloom and light pollution cast his form in a dull blue-ish hue. Logan hopped over a low wall, landing unsteadily on the beach. Cassidy thought for a moment that he might be considering a night-time swim, but he merely walked a few paces and then sat down on the sand.

Cassidy watched Logan for a few minutes more, but he showed no signs of moving from his position on the beach. Cassidy was still lost in thoughts of Logan when he felt Dick's hands on his shoulders.

"Sometimes I kind of hate him," Dick said in a low voice. "Y'know?"

Unspoken words lay sharp against Cassidy's tongue. _Sometimes I kind of hate you_. Dick's sudden proximity was overwhelming. He bent his head, letting his cheek fall against Cassidy's rumpled hair. Dick still smelled like the ocean and the salty tang filled Cassidy's senses as he breathed in. When he breathed out, it sounded like a sigh. 

"What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico," Dick murmured, and Cassidy thought he heard the trace of a smile in his voice.

Cassidy cast one last look out at Logan, and then turned to face Dick. He leaned back hard against the railing, feeling how flimsy it was. He imagined himself falling as Dick's lips met his.

*

Cassidy awoke the next day with the dull pain of a headache that felt like a hangover. Dick was sprawled next to him, taking up most of the bed. Cassidy climbed unsteadily to his feet. He felt sticky and in need of a shower. He glanced at the clock; it was past noon, which meant they'd missed all the really good waves. Funny how their trips to Mexico never really ended up being about the surfing.

Cassidy's gaze swept the room once more. His stomach dropped, and he felt the second wave of the hangover he didn't have. ". . . Dick?" he said, reaching over to place a hand on Dick's shoulder.

Dick rolled over, sleepily cracking open one eye. " _Whassamattercomebacktobed_ ," he mumbled hazily.

"Logan's gone," Cassidy said flatly.

Dick squinted up at him. His voice clarified slightly: "What?"

"His stuff's gone." Cassidy crossed the room, looking out at the parking lot. "And the car's gone."

Dick was suddenly very awake. " _What?_ "

Cassidy felt his headache increase. All of a sudden he wished he'd left Dick to sleep a little longer, missing his sleepy, contented expression. Dick leaped out of bed, rushing to the window to confirm what Cassidy had said.

"He took the car? That's Dad's car." Dick let out a low moan. "He knows that's Dad's car . . . he knows we'll be in the shit if anything happens to it . . ."

Cassidy tuned out Dick's rant, which was rapidly gaining speed. He imagined Logan returning to the room in the early hours of the morning, taking his bags and lifting the car keys from the top of the dresser. His stomach twisted as he thought of what else Logan must have witnessed.

". . . shit," he murmured, as Dick concluded his rant with his own colourful string of swearwords.

*

Cassidy left Dick cursing Logan's name in the hotel room. He heard a smashing sound as the door slammed shut, and figured that Dick was finishing off what Logan had started in trashing the room. Cassidy walked down to the beach. He ended up sitting in approximately the same spot as Logan had done the previous night.

He picked up a stick and began tracing patterns idly in the sand. He found himself writing, _water water everywhere, nor any drop to drink_ in sloppy letters. His mom used to recite passages from "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner" when she took him and Dick—no, _Richie_ ; he had always been Richie as a kid—to the beach. She wasn't like the other moms; she'd sit and read _Anna Karenina_ instead of Vogue, wearing a big hat to keep her skin pale and creamy. As the sun sank in the sky, Cassidy curled up into a ball, the way he'd done when he was a kid, his head resting awkwardly on the cooling sand. His hopes that Dick would come down and find him slowly died as the hours passed. Finally, he fell asleep.

He awoke to the sound of his cell phone ringing. Still feeling groggy, he checked the display and then flipped it open.

"Hell _ooo_ , babydoll . . ." It was his stepmom. She sounded drunk. Either that or it was an affectation; part of her kitsch, 1960s housewife persona. "How's _Meh-hic-co_?" she cooed. "Are you boys having fun?"

"Yeah. Yeah, it's great," Cassidy mumbled.

"I hope the waves are . . . _mondo_."

"Yeah . . ."

"Bring me back some _tequila_ , okay? You know your father never keeps any in the house." She laughed loudly, as if she'd made a joke.

Cassidy couldn't be bothered to reply.

"Listen, darling," she continued—and suddenly she didn't sound very drunk at all. "Something's happened. Is Logan with you? Everybody's been trying to reach him . . ."

"He's . . ." Cassidy trailed off, biting his lip. Somehow he doubted that his stepmom would be pleased to hear that Logan had stolen the car; she was scrupulous about accounting for all of his dad's assets. "I don't know where he is," Cassidy finished truthfully.

"Oh. Well. I think you boys should come straight home."

"Why?"

He heard his stepmom swear on the other end; all remnants of her genial housewifery stripped away. This was more like it; the woman who would slap him if he went within 20 yards of her walk-in closet or ate her special yoghurt from the fridge. "I don't see why _I_ have to be the one to tell you. I didn't sign up for this shit."

"What is it?" Cassidy asked. He felt the same prickle of anticipation he had the day he'd received the phonecall telling him his mother was dead.

"Lilly Kane has been murdered."


End file.
